Ink
by terrified
Summary: One-shot. Molly falls prey to mean colleagues. Sherlock does not tolerate this.


**Ink**

The ladies' room was empty of people. Molly sighed in relief to see that it was. She turned the tap on as water rushed out noisily. The jets of water echoed through the large, empty bathroom. Molly placed her hands under the water and began frantically scrubbing. Her hands were stained with ink, all the way up to her wrists. Molly focused on scrubbing hard, repeatedly pumping soap out of the dispenser and lathering her hands with it. Her eyes were wide and fixed firmly on her hands. She paid attention to every bubble of soap, every droplet of water so as to stop herself from crying. "Come on…" she muttered fiercely to herself. None of the ink seemed to be going away.

Sherlock had been searching for Molly. The last time he saw her, she was just finishing up her lunch and heading back to the lab. He regretted not catching her then and stealing her away to help look at a few severed limbs he had procured. Instead, he had gotten distracted by Lestrade's phone call, updating him on another case. "Where are you, Molly Hooper?" asked the detective to himself. He had been to all her various work stations and no one had seen her. He rushed to her locker, only to see that her things were still in tact. She hadn't gone home yet. Sherlock sighed. Where was she?

He had just decided to send her a text when Sherlock then noticed these peculiar drops of ink on the ground. He knelt down to look at them and could see they hadn't fully dried up. They were drops of ink that had been dripping off something and had been smeared by footsteps. As he followed the smears of ink, he noticed they were consistently the same foot length. He immediately recognised it as Molly's stride and shoe size.

Carefully, Sherlock followed them and it led him to the ladies' room. He could hear the strong jet of water. Without hesitation, he stepped right in, only to see Molly's hunched figure over the sink, now angrily scratching at her wrists. The almost maddening way she was clawing at herself alarmed Sherlock.

"Molly!" he exclaimed, walking up to her. He shut the tap off and looked at her. Looking up from the sink, Molly's gaze lifted to meet Sherlock's eyes which opened wide with concern.

"Oh, it's you…hello.." she said, smiling, only to bite her lip as a steady stream of tears fell from her eyes.  
"What's happened?" he asked firmly, steadying her shoulders with his hands as she began to fight back sobs.  
"Oh…something silly…really," she said, laughing through her tears. "I really…sh-shouldn't be crying…"  
"Molly…your hands.." Sherlock remarked as he finally looked down at her smeared hands.  
"It's all just…very stupid…ha…" she replied, trying to catch her breath.  
"Tell me what happened."

As Molly explained to him what had happened with her voice jagged from crying, Sherlock's eyes widened in fury. The ink stains had been from a prank by a few colleagues. They often pulled tricks on her, she told him. They found her pedantic need for gloves and her obsession with clean hands very amusing. She couldn't see how clean hands were unusual, given they all worked in a hospital.

"And so…" she continued, "You know that stash of spare hair pins I keep in the staff lockers?"  
"Yes."  
"I keep it in this little pewter box right…."  
"Yes, I know that box."  
"And they filled it with ink, Sherlock…" Molly said, her jaw tight. "These colleagues of mine, in their _mid-thirties_, decided to fill my pin box with _ink_. I tried to clean the pins and clean the box but then…the ink…it got all over my hands and…"

Sherlock shushed her gently and kissed her on the forehead to calm her. It did and she sighed as her tense shoulders dropped. She felt the urge to cry slowly ebb, the tears on her face drying up just like the ink on her hands.

"Come, let's get your hands cleaned."

Sherlock took Molly's hands and brought her to an empty staff room he always used when he wanted to hide from Mycroft or escape from Lestrade.

"Wait here. I won't be long."

Soon, Sherlock arrived with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton balls.

"It's a good thing we're in a hospital. Plenty of this stuff around." he said, waving the bottle in front of her. A smile appeared on Molly's face, sending a wave of relief through Sherlock. The distress he witnessed on her face just now was something he was never going to forget. He certainly hoped never to see it again.

"How silly of me not to think of that…" Molly remarked, pointing to the alcohol.  
"You were in a state of distress, Molly. Not even a marvellous brain like yours could think straight."  
"Mm…I suppose…"  
"Here, give me your hands."

Sherlock began to slowly and carefully work his way round every ink stained patch of skin. He started with the finger tips, slowly working his way down to the palm and eventually reaching her wrists. It took a long time but it gave Molly a chance to calm down. The presence of Sherlock and his careful attention to her gave her such peace of mind that Molly slowly but surely regained her composure. His hands moved deftly across her skin, making sure to move the alcohol soaked cotton firmly enough to work the ink off, but not too harshly as to hurt her skin. Every so often, he would ask if it was all right, or if he was hurting her. Molly would smile, shaking her head. She wanted to take his face into her hands and kiss him silly, but he was concentrating and she didn't want to disturb him.

"There. Not a streak of it left." he looked up, proudly. He flung the last bit of cotton into the wastepaper basket nearby.  
"Thank you, Sherlock." Molly said gratefully.  
"You're welcome, Molly Hooper." he replied, bending to kiss her forehead again. His face then grew serious as he dropped to his knees before her and looked her deeply in both eyes. "I'm going to ask you again, Molly, tell me who did this."  
"Oh, Sherlock…that's not necessary.."  
"We have to stop them from doing this to you."  
"Well, they're not going to and there's nothing we can do about it."

Sherlock sighed and reached for her hands, casually weaving their fingers together.

"You do know that I could easily _find out_ who did this, don't you?" said the detective.  
"Ah…" Molly sighed, "That did not occur to me."  
"So are you going to tell me or not?"  
"Not until you tell me what you're going to do with them."  
"I told you, I'm going to stop them."  
"And how will you do that?"  
"I have my ways…"  
"That's what I'm afraid of." Molly said, smiling knowingly as she pulled her favourite face close to hers, kissing him softly on the mouth.  
"You can kiss me all you want…" Sherlock said, "I'm still going to do it."  
"Well, I can't stop you then…" replied Molly with a laugh.  
"No, you can't." he said, his eyes twinkling as he leaned in to kiss her.

A week later, the pathology team was all gathered for a rather austere meeting. Dr Wright, the head of pathology looked extremely displeased and the whole team huddled together, waiting for him to speak. The next thing Molly knew, Dr Wright was delivering a harsh lecture on hospital standards of hygiene and how the pathology department was no exception and in fact, was to be a shining beacon of hospital protocol. He then singled out those very colleagues of Molly's, three of them in all, for having been reported for 'breaking every single hygiene code to ever exist in any medical establishment.'

"No gloves when working on bodies, not using the proper sanitising chemicals for surgical instruments, eating in the morgue…the shameful list goes on." Dr Wright exclaimed, livid. "Until further notice, all three of you are suspended from duty."

And out of the corner of her eyes, Molly could see a familiar set of clear eyes peeking through the blinds of the lab. Even though she could't see the rest of his face, she could feel Sherlock's smirk of victory. Molly had to bite her lip to stop from wanting to grin too. Carefully, she whipped her mobile phone out and surreptitiously typed out a text.

_You're really good._ _x_ - M  
_I know. - SH  
Be my dinner companion tonight? - M  
Does the companionship end after dinner? - SH_

Molly smiled and turned to look at the pair of eyes that still lingered by the window.

_No. Unless you're wanted elsewhere. - M  
I shouldn't think so. - SH_  
_Good. See you later then._ - M  
_I'll be at the morgue._ - SH  
_Remember to wash your hands._ - M  
_You'll have to come and remind me._ - SH

When Molly looked up again, the silhouette by the window was gone. Smiling to herself, she resumed listening to Dr Wright's angry tirade, patiently waiting until she could leave to meet her favourite detective at the morgue to remind him to wash his hands.


End file.
